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turnupswritessometimes · 3 months

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Butterflies - Ch3 - Lies of P/Alice Madness Returns

Relationship: P/Alice Liddell

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53898544/chapters/136426825

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Summary: “But why go looking for other realities, when there’s no guarantee you’ll pass through to them?” “Because it’s an experiment, and I jolly well won’t learn anything more about all this unless I try,” Alice replied.

Having figured out how to slip in and out of Wonderland entirely, Alice Liddell sets off on a journey to find more realities around her own. When she follows a blue butterfly to Hotel Krat, she meets P. The more time they spend together, the more they feel as though there’s someone else out there, just like them.

Chapter Three: In Which Alice Explores Hotel Krat, and P Teases a Cat

Alice had half-expected to wake up in her usual reality. In an unfamiliar city, along the coast that France and Italy shared. A small part of her almost hoped it, so she wouldn't have to face P again. It was awful enough to embarrass oneself once, but truly dreadful to do it twice – and no doubt, she would do it twice. Most of her, though, wanted to stay. Krat was mysterious and beautiful. It was like Wonderland. She felt more at home here than she did in London.

After she woke, Polendina appeared at her door, as if by magic, and asked if he might run her a bath. As her hair was still crusted with sea salt, Alice accepted gracefully. She was really starting to warm to the puppet.

She sunk into the hot water, and revelled in the feeling. It wasn't often, even in her new position, that she came by a hot bath. It was truly a heavenly thing. As she lay in the bubbles, her mind wandered. She hoped the ship was alright. Hopefully it had weathered the storm, and they'd been able to find port, somewhere. She truly hoped Peter was alright. Was he worrying about her?

If only it was possible to send letters through different realities, then she could let him know she was alive. Hopefully, he wouldn’t worry too much. After all, Alice was like a cat – she had nine lives.

By the time Alice washed and towelled her hair, she found her dress also clean and dried. Perhaps Polendina truly was magic.

It all made her feel much more herself. And when she felt more herself, she had the courage to go downstairs, and face the other hotel guests. It was just as scary as facing a slew of monsters.

Polendina led her to Lady Antonia, the owner, first. She was delighted when Alice curtseyed to her. (Her only frame of reference was meeting a queen.) She called her a charming young lady.

"So, where do you come from, and where are you going?" she asked, and sounded genuinely curious.

"I come from London," Alice replied. "I don't truly have a destination. It was a happy accident I found myself in Krat. But if it's alright, I'd like to stay a while, and help the city."

Lady Antonia looked less jolly, then. She nodded, thoughtfully, and took a long breath. She was sick. Alice could see that. It wasn't the wheelchair, but the drip behind her. It was the healing scars she was hiding behind her hat.

"A very noble goal, my dear." She rested her cheek on her frail fingers. "Though, if I'm truthful, I'm not sure if there's any way to truly save this city. It’s much too far gone."

"I've heard that before," Alice replied. She thought about Wonderland, and that infernal train ruining everything it touched. "I believe there's always hope."

It earnt her a smile. Lady Antonia called her a good girl, again, before she began coughing. Alice thought it wise to withdraw – the exchange had clearly exhausted her.

She met Lorenzini Venigni next, who flirted with her like a doting uncle. She could tell he was just flattering her, that he wasn't truly interested in her romantically. It made it easy to raise her eyebrows and seem unaffected. It wasn't like P calling her beautiful, with his earnestness and too-blue eyes.

Besides, Venigni seemed most interested in talking about himself. He was a very rich entrepaneur, he was glad to tell her, and made it sound like he'd built the city from scratch, with his own two hands. He spoke about the trams, and his factory - and how rich it had made him. Alice realised, then, how tired she was. Her mind wandered as Venigni's lilting voice continued, and she was sure she was falling asleep standing up.

She caught Sophia's eye, from where she stood at the stargazer. Sophia smiled, softly, and looked amused. It was strange, Alice thought, that no one else seemed to see her. No one else seemed to know her.

Alice was about to ask if Venigni knew, but then, of course, she met Geppetto. He steamrolled into Venigni's workstation, rattling off a list of parts that he required. For P, she realised, and it was still strange to think of him as a puppet.

When Geppetto spotted Alice, he stopped short.

It woke her up. This was the man P called Father – though the truth was, this was his creator. He'd explained the rules of the Grand Covenant, and the first was to obey the creator. And P wasn't bound to any of it, but when he spoke about his father, his voice had softened even more. Alice wondered if he’d needed to be bound.

This man was not particularly impressive, she thought. He was taller than Alice, but not P. Had flyaway grey hair and a tidy beard. Had a monocle pressed under one brow, and clever, grey eyes.

"This ravishing beauty is Alice." Venigni gestured to her. "Our midnight visitor."

"I really am sorry to intrude," Alice said. She held out her hand. "Alice Liddell. P mentioned you, last night."

"P?" Geppetto did take her hand, and shook it in the ordinary way. "Yes, of course, my son."

P, who'd said that no one actually called him P. That seemed to include his father. Was it better or worse he only knew him as his son? He said it with a certain warmth that Alice wanted to believe it was good. Though she wondered where the name P came – had he chosen it himself?

"Though, I must confess—” Geppetto’s voice was light, but she heard the tenseness under it. “I told him to be careful who he invites here."

"He didn't invite me," Alice said. She'd learnt enough not to explain about blue butterflies leading her here. "I found myself shipwrecked, and I made it here myself."

She'd tucked her blade into the waistband of her dress, and she noticed his eyes glance to it. Noticed the look of surprise on his face, that a girl had made it through his city of puppets, and couldn’t help smiling a little.

Geppetto smiled. "I see you can handle yourself."

He was smiling, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. In fact, there was something familiar about him. The kind of familiar that Alice did not want to think about.

"I assure you I mean no harm," Alice continued.

"Of course not. You seem a nice girl."

"A lovely girl," Venigni added, grinning at her. She raised an eyebrow back. "But it's not just puppets you have to watch out for, out there."

"That's right. Forgive my being suspicious. There are still stalkers on the streets, and half of them are ready to stab each other for a meal."

"Stalkers?"

Geppetto blinked at her. Alice pressed her hands together, behind her back, and tried to look innocent. She knew that the more she showed she didn't know, the stranger she seemed. P understood that she'd arrived here by magic. No one else would believe it.

"You have travelled far to Krat, haven't you?"

"You could say that," Alice replied. Geppetto expected more. He wanted more. He watched her with the air of a man who usually got his way on these things.

She wouldn't give it to him. That was her answer. She'd said it confidently and she watched him back. Polite, but not offering anything any explanation.

"You were saying about stalkers?"

It irritated him. She saw his eye twitch, but Geppetto was too polite a man to argue with her. He, and Venigni, explained the roving gangs who were the leftover guards of the city. Just as bad as the real gangs. None of them could be trusted.

"And yet, my son seems to trust anyone he comes across."

He'd invited one of them back, and he hadn't yet taken off his dog mask. Nothing inherently wrong with that, but nothing trustworthy, either. P had talked to more survivors, and said that they seemed good people, though they'd sold him a ripped guidebook at a ridiculous price. He hadn’t even been angry.

Alice thought it was a wonderful thing, to be able to trust like that. She didn't trust anyone. And the more she spoke to Geppetto, with his even, calculated words and his probing gaze, the less she trusted him, as well.

"I'll make sure to be careful," Alice said.

"Forgive me. A father worries."

Alice wouldn't know, she realised. She had not seen her father for more than a decade. There were fond memories, of course, but there were so old they might as well have been a fairytale. She nodded, clenching her fingers more tightly behind her back.

Venigni found the parts Geppetto wanted, presumably to fix up P. A worried father, and yet he wanted to make sure P was an effective weapon, Alice mused.

She hoped she was wrong about him.

She really hoped.

P hadn't known what on earth to do with Alice.

He was used to people, puppets, monsters, trying to kill him first. It was rarer that they didn't. Even rarer that he could see their face. It was easier when they were wearing a mask; they were foxes or cats and he could focus on their words instead of their faces. There was just a voice to read, instead of a voice and an expression.

Of course, no one wore a mask at the hotel. But he knew them, knew them well now, and - it was different. None of them had mentioned Sophia, or the butterflies. He adored Sophia, but it was easy to be around her. She was soft, and quiet, and explained things gently to him. He was happy to sit and listen to records next to her.

It was different, with this girl. Not least because he'd been expecting to spend the night roaming the streets, fighting puppets. He hadn't expected to be sitting across from a girl his own age and thinking - feeling - that he’d met someone like himself. Even though she was human, and he was a puppet. Even though she came from somewhere far away from Krat. But there was - something. Something he knew. It had been that something that made him struggle to talk to her, and he couldn’t place why.

P sat in one of the many spare hotel rooms to pass the rest of the night. The dawn painted the sky outside like a painting. He teased Spring with a scraggly ribbon he'd found between the sofa cushions – the only other one awake.

Everyone was asleep, including Alice. She'd excused herself not long after he'd called her beautiful. She'd stayed just long enough to finish the second half of her scone.

P didn't sleep. He rested, but he couldn't dream, like humans.

Spring pounced on the ribbon, batting it with her tiny paws.

"Do you think I upset her?" he asked.

Gemini chirped, and his light glowed brighter. "You're still thinking about Alice, are you?"

He frowned. It sounded like Gemini was teasing him. But, he admitted to himself, it was better than thinking about the alternative; better than thinking about monsters, and the king of puppets, and his father. His father, who he had the sneaking suspicion was harbouring secrets from him. He trusted his father. He wanted to keep trusting his father.

P sat back, tugging the ribbon from Spring's grip. She miaowed at him.

"You were no help," he said to Gemini.

"Excuse you, I was plenty help!"

"You kept - interrupting." P flicked the ribbon decidedly. "With those rules."

"Look, pal, those rules are called manners. They're meant to tell you what to say and do to keep a polite conversation. Especially when you're too blinded by beauty to be sensible."

P's frown turned into a scowl. He flicked the ribbon close to Gemini's lantern dangling the end. Spring darted after it. The cat came dangerously close to knocking Gemini askew. He cried out, and fell silent.

For a few seconds.

"It's true," he said, sulkily.

P didn't reply. He let the ribbon slip from his fingers. Spring immediately latched onto it, chasing it under the sofa. She rolled on her back, her mouth very pink as she bit at the ribbon. He watched - pretended to be completely absorbed.

Alice Liddell was very pretty. Different to Sophia - Sophia was graceful and ephemeral and beautiful - where Alice was sharp and decided. She'd looked like a doll; her skin pale, and smooth, and her hair a dark wave over her shoulders. But it was her eyes: those green eyes that were as bright as a cat's. They were outlined with black, so they stood out all the more. The black was slightly smudged, from her trip in the sea. Actually, her hair was quite ruffled and there were shingles sticking to the bright fabric of her dress. But that made her more pretty. It made her look human.

Yet, she'd looked horrified when she'd realised what he was. Only for a moment, but he saw it. And she'd looked just as horrified when he'd called her beautiful. She was scared of him, because he was a puppet.

But - then she'd said he was handsome, and wasn't teasing or cloying. It had been genuine.

It had made something inside him tick in a way it hadn't before, leaving the whole thing complicated, and confusing. He didn't like confusing. And he definitely didn't know how to behave like a ‘gentleman.’

The morning, very slowly, arrived. He heard the distant thudding of footsteps through the corridors, and the faint flutter of Vegnini's voice. The hotel was waking up.

Gemini told him to help Alice make her introductions. P was sure she'd want to be with humans, her own kind, and that she wouldn’t really want to see him again. But Gemini was persistent, and hard to ignore for long. So he pulled himself up, and stepped into the hallway. He listened. There were voices. Eugenie laughed.

"You're not scared of a girl, are you, pal?" Gemini asked.

P sighed. He knew switching the lantern off wouldn't keep Gemini quiet. The best way was to prove him wrong. So, he set off in the direction of the voices.

Alice stood in Eugenie's workshop. She looked so much more at ease than she had the previous night. She leant on the counter, listening to Eugenie explaining about daggers.

She was smiling. Not the wry smile she'd given P the previous night, but a real smile.

Eugenie spotted him first. She broke off from her rattle about balancing blades.

"Oh, have you already met?" She pushed up her glasses, waving at P in greeting.

P nodded. He glanced at Alice, and saw her bite her lip as she looked back. Her arms were behind her back.

"This, here, is our greatest hope," Eugenie continued, gesturing to P. "And my bedtime customer. I've produced some of my best work for him. Why don't you show Miss Liddell your arm?"

P paused. He felt very aware of his legion arm – a gift from his father – and how it was decidedly not as human as the rest of him. How it was dangerous, especially for humans.

But Eugenie gestured for him to come over, grinning.

"I'd like to." Alice stepped forward. "If that's alright."

P nodded. He met them at the desk, and lay the hand of his legion arm on the surface. Eugenie explained it all to Alice, speaking quickly and excitedly, and she nodded like she was listening, but she looked distant. A strand of dark hair fell forward from behind her ear. P wondered what it would be like to brush it back. Wondered how she would look at him, if he did.

Then her fingers grazed his. Very lightly. Just touching the delicate, fragile joints. He couldn't feel touch on that side, but he saw it. His metal fingers twitched of their own accord, in response to the touch.

Her green eyes looked up at him. "And you like it, too?"

"It's serviceable," he replied. Then realised that wasn't what she asked. In truth, he hadn't thought much about it. It was his arm, and it served a purpose. It didn’t matter if he liked it – he needed it.

He caught the look Eugenie gave Alice, as though she had said something interesting. Something she also hasn't thought of. But then she continued, "And you should see Miss Liddell's blade!"

It rested on the desk too. A large knife. The same knife she’d been carrying the night before.

"May I?" His hand hovered over it. He heard Gemini give an approving chirp at his manners. Were there manners, for looking at a lady’s dagger?

"Be my guest."

So, P lifted it. The handle was wooden, and intricately carved. There were more engravings on the silver blade itself. When he shifted the blade, the light caught them. Vines and flowers. It was a wonder they hadn't been chipped away in battle.

He swiped it through the air. It was light; so light that the blade practically sung.

Alice watched.

He met her green gaze. Said, steadily, "It's not beautiful."

Eugenie gave an outraged squeak, but a slow smile spread across Alice's face.

"You're lying," she said.

P nodded. He fought against his own smile, and suspected he was losing the battle. (That was happening more and more often, these days. He didn't understand how it could be possible – how he could feel anything at all, when he was a puppet.)

"You're too good at lying," Eugenie half-scolded him. "I can never tell when you're telling the truth."

That was good, P thought. He tried to tell good lies – lies that didn't hurt. That only worked if the person he was lying to couldn’t tell. He ducked his head, like he was ashamed, and offered the handle of the knife to Alice.

She took it, and slipped it into the sash at her waist. The blade suited her. A pretty blade for a pretty girl, though he didn’t want to embarrass her again by saying it.

"And what about yours?" She gestured to the sword at his side.

He was aware of Eugenie watching the both of them intently, and it made him self-conscious. Why was she smiling, like this was particularly amusing? P drew his sword; his fencing blade; and offered it to her.

Alice rested it on her palms, before slipping a hand into the hilt. She didn't swing it; there wasn't room too, but she did take its weight for a moment. She made it catch the light, so it seemed like a ribbon of silver.

“It’s beautiful.”

"Perhaps you two should spar!" Eugenie said. There was a glint in her eye, and she had a hand on her hip. P wasn’t sure what all that meant. He expected Alice to protest – like she did about the chair at dinner – but instead she tilted her head to one side. It made her hair fall from her shoulder. The movement was beautiful. Just as beautiful, he thought, as his own blade.

"Would you like to?" she asked. "Before you go back onto the streets?"

She was smiling at him. Properly. He liked her smiling at him, like that.

P nodded.

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